


Warr(n)ing Signs

by TheFifthRunner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Guns Invented, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Biological Terrorism, Biological Warfare, Botched bits of medicine, Cholera, Civil War, Gen, Hospitals, Spies, Treason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFifthRunner/pseuds/TheFifthRunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Biological Warfare was the next step in the world of war. Swords coated in germs ruled battlefields and wiped out cities better than any weapon created so far. </p><p>Biological Terrorism was the next step to bringing the world down to its knees. Difficult to trace, easy to spread, killed hundreds. What better way to send a message?</p><p>----</p><p>In a world where guns were never created, germs and virus culturing were the next step for warfare and what happens when civil war starts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warr(n)ing Signs

**Author's Note:**

> The doctors mentioned in this story are real people except Lucian Allens, Alex Whittaker, Marie, and Louise. 
> 
> The rest are great men of science and without their contribution, modern medicine would not be the same. 
> 
> The way they are depicted here is FICTIONAL.

 

**_i._ **

 

_Heat, unbearable disgusting weather._

 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t expecting the clime to be any different but what he would give for a bit of rain to soothe the harsh winds. There was no respite from smoldering underneath the Egyptian sun. ‘A glass of water would surely do,’ he thought as sweat dripped from his pointed chin onto his loaned clothes.

 

_The Doctor-General will be with you shortly._

 

Bah, that had been two _hours_ ago; do these people not know what a watch is? The man starts to pace around the street, his green eyes rake over every citizen on the street. A woman in a large hat waves to him, trying to get his attention but his mind is only on his late companion. Two hours is a lot of time, the man reckons. His companion might’ve gotten waylaid by the sweet tea being sold on the streets. Or perhaps they could have been lost or even dead in the torturous heat. The man felt like his brains were melting out the side of his head - which would be a shame; his mind was a brilliant one after all. His pale skin was burning as well; he swore he could smell burning flesh. Perhaps the heat was getting to him or the cholera, he hoped it wasn’t the cholera - he was supposed to retrieve it not catch it himself.

 

 _Will be with you shortly_.

 

What a lie, such liars, lying leeches. The man’s pacing had gotten worse, his breathing was getting unsteady, and where is that thrice-damned Doctor-General?

A figure in black was striking against the sandy dunes that surrounded the man. That or it could be a mirage, the man reasoned his dehydration was starting to get into his mind as the miasma of sickness starts to set in, seep into his bones, soak in until there is nothing left of him but disease. In what feels like a century the figure stops walking right in front of him. It reaches out to him, its black gloved hand presses a small vial against his chest and slides it into a sweat soaked pocket. The hand taps the vial once, twice before the figure heads out into the dunes once more.

 

The man reaches his shaking sweat slicked fingers into his pocket and feels the vial slipping around inside. The miasma for cholera was now safe and sound in his pocket; he could finally head out of this blasted heat trap and back safely to the Fatherland as soon as the next ship docked.

 

 

He would be home shortly. His leather shoes creaked as he strode briskly into his hotel’s lobby. He was so unsure of several things; would the miasma take hold in cold Hamburg? Did that bastard of a Doctor even give him a sample of the virus or just a few grains of coloured sand? No one could trust the slave country, but France had promised him asylum if things truly turned for the worst.

The hotel staff stared him down as he approached as the desk and asked the man behind the desk for a towel and some water and when the next boat out of this hell hole leaves. He said it in nicer words, however, he wished he said them differently.

 

Stupid staff, horrible hotel (pah, more like paltry living area), disgusting people, bloody _slaves_.

 

The man realised that he had walked past his room and into the servants’ staircase. With a sneer, he turned back to his room. He stroked the vial in his pocket all the way down the hall; soon, so very soon.

By this time tomorrow, he would be in his room, in his house, in the _Fatherland_. By this time tomorrow, the revolution would begin and the world would tremble beneath the miasma and the

 

Chaos would be beautiful.

 

  _ **I.**_

If the phone rang one more time, Marie was going to lose it. The damned thing kept on ringing and ringing and maybe she should be grateful she had a job but if that tinny thing rang –

 

A shrill tone cut through the air like a knife straight to Marie’s ear.

 

Oh, if she could only disconnect that annoying device, her ears would be so much happier. If she did, her boss would be very unhappy, and an unhappy Pasteur was a man who’d be so particular in each and every detail. Can’t have that now, it’d be all ‘Marie, fix me some brandy’, ‘Marie, investors are coming, tell the kitchens to prepare lunch’, ‘Marie, align the papers better!’

 

The suffering secretary picked up the telephone with her long fingers. She rolled her brown eyes and pinched her tiny face.

 

“Bonjour, this is the Pasteur Institute. Who may I ask - his private line? Well, excuse me sir, but I must screen all monsieur Pasteur’s calls. You know him personally?” As she listened to his answer, Marie rubbed the bridge of her rather mousy little nose. Monsieur Pasteur would definitely be cross with her if she didn’t let an important client through but she wasn’t too sure about this man. Then again, the monsieur might dock her pay if she guessed wrong; there was no harm in letting this man talk to the monsieur after all.

 

“Monsieur, monsieur, monsieur! Please, I know that you say it is an emergency so I will let the monsieur Pasteur know you have called. Yes, I will get him on the line immediately. Thank you for your patience.”

 

“Or perhaps you should thank me for _my_ patience.” Marie muttered under her breath and she rose on unsteady legs and tottered into the larger office in front of her desk. Sitting for a long time did bad things to your legs, according to Monsieur Pasteur. She listened to him because he was a doctor and doctors knew everything; after all, he was the reason she and her brothers still lived after the Germans attacked the village with their virus-infected swords. Disgusting little toads they were with their shouting and sword slinging. They did not do for proper little ladies and because of the weather in La Chenard, the disease spread quickly claiming the lives of several children and elderly.

Marie waited patiently in front of the doctor who was busily studying the notes and letters scattered on his desk. She huffed as she had just fixed that pile this morning before he came in and now all her work was for nothing. As annoyed as she was at this man, he was a good employer and he had saved her brothers’ lives by developing an antibody for the children against the potent strain of flu that the Germans carried with them.

 

“Yes Marie? Is there something you’d like to bother me with? More money for a tea run, I presume?”

 

She huffed again; this man was truly a piece of uncooked dough as her mother would say.

 

“There is a man on the telephone who says he needs to urgently speak with you monsieur. He says that whatever he needs to tell you cannot be delayed.”

 

Pasteur sighed and while happy from the reprieve from the taxes and letters, he wondered what needed to be done _this_ time and who he would need to pay off because of unhappy patients and doctors still in training.

 

There was a shortage of doctors after the biological warfare on Germany and England. A lot of good men were lost in the implementation of plans. Sword fights had a tendency to do a lot of damage - especially when swords were coated in germs. It was the fastest and most effective way to decimate large armies within a few weeks; not to mention those who did survive most likely carried a strain of the virus back to their villages infecting larger groups of people.

 

Which all leads to Pasteur’s problem: the incredible lack of doctors and the incompetent fools who are currently training in the Institute since most doctors were quarantined and killed off after coming home from battle.

 

His fingers comb through thinning locks as he reaches Marie’s desk to answer whoever he (probably) owes money to.

 

“This is Pasteur, how may I help you?”

 

  _ **II.**_

Louis Pasteur was a busy man, he had several appointments to attend to and he did not want to go to any of them. He simply wanted to go home to his lab and check those culture samples. He was sure he found something the day before while observing samples A and B under the new microscope he acquired. Wait, he didn’t leave his culture outside the sterilized area did he? No, he can’t remember, well, if he did, perhaps he could compare them to the other samples he hadn’t touched yet.

 

He was a scientist for medicine’s sake - he didn’t want to attend meetings or create policies or do the finances (alright, all he did was approve them, but still). His mind was supposed to be occupied with more scientific aligned thoughts and ideas.

 

 

Perhaps if he wasn’t so distracted, he would have noticed that the caller had not mentioned his name at all and seemed suspiciously knowledgeable about Pasteur’s own schedule. He didn’t notice any of these things however, and simply grabbed his old thick woolen coat (which Marie handed to him on pinched fingers as if the fabric had done something to offend her) and was off.

 

Then he went back into his office and remembered to sign off on the taxes and take his briefcase from Marie. He promptly left again without a second glance only to turn back for a third time and greet Marie at the door of the Pasteur Institute and let her wrap the scarf around his neck while muttering _imbecile_ at him the whole time.

 

The man on the phone mentioned that he needed Pasteur to read over some documents in his office that could not be brought out of the building for security’s sake. What a load of rubbish, such pretentious people he must have dealt with in the past. This is why he turned down the offer of Doctor-General of France in the first place. So much secrecy and bribing and pretention wore even the sturdiest man down. No to mention all the politicking would cut down on his, as his secretary lovingly called it, _Monsieur Pasteur’s Lonely Laboratory Time_.

 

But he definitely did not remember dealing with any sort of people that required such confidentiality in their documents, not even for the building of his school. His leather shoes creak as he turns around the block when he feels an arm grab him from behind. He struggles but his frame is weak and not as exercised as he had hoped. The attacker had an iron grip and smelled of leather and sweat. Pasteur tried twisting and turning as hard as he could but to no avail. His assailant had gagged him with a sweet smelling cloth and to his utter horror; Pasteur felt a slight prick on his neck.

 

Terror dripped out of every pore in his body. A prick could only mean one thing. It must be a weapon he himself had a hand in inventing all those years ago when he worked for the office of the Doctor-General. An iron ring with a small needle like a syringe’s only smaller, perhaps only a centimeter in length and the tip no larger than a millimeter. The needle had tiny ridges which faced backward ensuring that the needle would stay inside the body. The ridges were coated with either poison or virus mixture. It was a preferred weapon in the biological warfare – especially for assassins.

 

_Was this his end?_

 

Pasteur slumped in his captor’s arms as the sickeningly sweet odor filled his nose and his brain. Assassinated by the creation he made for his entry into doctorate was a rather ironic way to die. His body was growing numb and he found he could not even keep his head up. His view was blurred by tears forming uninhibited on his eyes. Pasteur could feel himself being lifted and thrown onto something soft. It was a surreal experience; being trapped in one’s own body – unable to control even the smallest twitch of the fingers. His eyes feel heavy until he cannot force them open by sheer will. They close and it is dark and cold and the world around him moves. Pasteur felt like he should remember all of these feelings for his personal observations journal. He feels his consciousness slip by him.

 

_Yes_

 

Pasteur knew that this would be how he dies.

 

 

  _ **III.**_

Alexander Whittaker was sure of one thing: in all the times he has worked with the great Robert Koch, the most important lesson he will remember is that pacing will drive a man mad. It was in his second year that he learned this; he was writing a treatise on the new strain the great doctor had discovered while assisting the nunnery when the doctor started pacing. He would not stop for anything, not even his tea which he unceremoniously picked up and carried with him while pacing. The worst part was Dr. Koch’s favorite pacing ground happened to be where the squeaky floorboards are. Alex had tried to steer him away from the area by cordoning it off with tables or chairs but Koch would simply move them away and begin his pacing anew.

 

Alex was trying and failing to keep his patience with the squeaking but it was getting too much. He was about to tell the good doctor what his exact thoughts were on the pacing when the doctor thankfully (mercifully) stopped.

 

“Alex, call Pasteur’s office. Tell his secretary we are taking a train to Paris and we shall meet him there and he shall give us a tour of his new facility. I heard it runs on steam and we must examine the effects of steam powered machinery on the infirm! It would do well on our current paper.” Koch started to pace again. “Have you read that new treatise by von Pettenkofer? Miasma, that man has gone mad; such a shame, he had the most brilliant mind. Have you called Pasteur yet, boy?”

 

There were some days the young man felt more like a secretary than an intern to the great doctor. Even Louise, his secretary would mention it. Well, if making this telephone call would get him out of the clutches of pacing induced madness, so be it.

 

He crossed the office with a few strides, his long legs carrying him over to Louise’s desk. He smiled his charming, carefree smile which the secretary would say looked more like he was having a problem passing a stone. Louise looked up from her extremely tidy desk, the likes of which only a secretary could manage, to raise a delicate eyebrow at Alex’s smile. She pursed her tiny rosebud lips, that smile could only mean that the young man needed a favor. Luckily, she was inclined to grant him this one as long as it didn’t make her run down to the kitchens or to the general store to buy cigars and port.

 

“Louise, can you find the number for the Pasteur Institute? Perhaps Amelia from the pharmacy down the lane would know? Doctor Koch needs it immediately, he says. He’s invited himself to see its new system.”

 

Alex implored with large baby blue eyes, looking more like a kicked pup than a man in his twenties studying to become the Doctor-General. Louise shifted in her seat, the pharmacy was several blocks away but it might do her good to stretch her legs. It was such a nice day after all. She sighed, organized the loose leaf on her desk and stood. Alex let out a small “Yes!” before remembering who he was supposed to be and straightened himself. Louise secured her bonnet to the dark loose curls on her head and adjusted her dress. The intern offered his thin arm to her and chaperoned her to the pharmacy.

 

Robert Koch, in his pacing, did not notice his secretary and intern vanish from his office. He had received a rather troubling letter a few days ago from a colleague in the slave country. An outbreak of cholera had occurred in an outlying village. His friend had been working closely with the German Secret Service for a few months and had informed him that the same village was being used to test new strains of the virus they were planning to release in England. They were making the cholera stronger against antibiotics and having several new strains making it difficult and expensive to vaccinate the people. The most disturbing part of the letter came at the carefully coded postscript hidden in a secret compartment in the envelope the original letter had been delivered in. When transcribed, simply read:

 

“DG NO LOYAL NO DEALS = MONEY STOP DOUBLE AGENT IN MIDST STOP”

 

The French Doctor-General had betrayed them, greedy money loving bastard. Koch could not believe he was bought over by the slave country. How dare he betray the Fatherland and his allies! How dare he take one of the sons of the Fatherland!

 

The worst thing was that the Doctor-General now had access to the virus strains in the slave country. He could launch an attack and go undetected as the cholera outbreak was officially classified information. He must warn Pasteur of the treacherous Doctor-General. As the only other viable candidate for Doctor-General, Pasteur would be the first target of the traitors. With the additional threat of a German double agent meant that all correspondence between him and Pasteur must now be vis-à-vis. Koch could not trust anyone but his staff; it put him in a very precarious position. Pasteur would be safest in America and he would arrange passage as soon as he could contact John Hopkins. The wealthy man had a few hospitals and businesses under him and would be able to provide asylum.

 

For now, however, a call to Pasteur; where was his intern anyway? Koch turned his head towards Louise’s desk; his secretary was gone as well? When had they stepped out?

 

Alex guided Louise along the lane; the fall leaves had been swept aside by the street sweepers and lined their little lane. Both Alex and Louise had found their fortune with Dr. Koch; he was a kind man, a good employer, and a brilliant man. Alex let his thoughts wonder as they entered the pharmacy.

 

He had travelled to Germany after his mother passed away in America. The man his mother entrusted with his care took her money and turned her child to the streets. He had been penniless with only a suitcase of belongings to his name. He had done some unscrupulous things to keep himself alive. He always tries to put what he did at the back of his mind. He pretends his new position in life would wash away the feeling of their hands on his skin. 

 

Louise pretends not to notice when Alex retreats into himself; she worries about him. Such a sweet boy seems to be so lost in his thoughts at times. She nods politely when Amelia makes small talk while she looks for the Pasteur Institute’s business card. She pats Alex’ arm lightly to get his attention and when the doctor in training turned to her, Amelia handed her the little card. The two left the shop and walked in silence to the office.

 

The bell above the door made a jingling sound as Louise and Alex re-entered the office. Louise thanked the young man with a pretty smile and went to call the Pasteur Institute with the telephone on her desk.

 

“Doctor, the Institute secretary is on the line to answer your questions.” Louise called from her side of the office.

 

Robert Koch took the receiver from Louise’s delicate hands.

 

“Where is he? When is he returning? He received a call from whom? Max von Pettenkofer, yes I know of him. Thank you mademoiselle…? Marie? Yes, thank you Marie. I must ask you, in his absence to raise the Institute’s warning level to three and instigate a quarantine lockdown immediately. Yes, I will find him.”

 

He had a sinking feeling about who this German double agent was. After all, only very few people traveled outside of Germany’s walls; the medic soldiers were very strict and had excellent detection techniques. They even recently found a way to track body temperatures by looking through a screen with some sensors powered by steam engine. No one could slip past them and even the attempt could land one in prison or worse, be punished with mandated doctor training. Once you were a doctor, you were never to return home, after all, one could be a carrier for a disease and no nation would take that risk.

 

Three citizens left German walls the same time as Koch’s friend: a nurse to be reassigned to England, a medic to accompany her (or shoot her if she becomes infected with any disease), and Max von Pettenkofer who was supposed to attend a meeting in France. Koch had always been distrustful of Pettenkofer, especially when he started speaking about this Chaos group, and seeing things beyond the veil. He had recently been obsessing about Pasteur and his Institute and it made Koch wary of what he might attempt; Louis Pasteur was a brilliant man but he was also a bit oblivious to his surroundings. He could be kidnapped and not realize it until he was beaten to a pulp and drugged for information.

 

This called for an emergency meeting of the Hospital Union, perhaps they could find out about Chaos; Pettenkofer always said they were going to bring about a revolution with a new weapon. Koch was pretty sure they were a group of madmen who were bent on terrorizing the nations.

 

“Louise, call Casimir Davaine and John Hopkins. Tell them we are to meet in the West Wing of the Pasteur Institute. I am certain Hopkins is still staying with Davaine in the hotel down the street where the last conference was held. Then tell the butler to pack my things, Alex, pack as well boy,

 

We leave at once.”

 

  _ **IV.**_

Loud grumbling and several curses could be heard throughout the Pasteur Institute as Marie initiated its quarantine lockdown. A level three warning was usually ignored, as it only meant that all doctors-in-training must remain vigilant of any visitor in the campus and carry antidotes and antibiotics with them at all times. A quarantine lockdown, however, meant that all personnel could not leave the building until the access code was entered. No visitors were permitted and all doctors-in-training must remain within their quarters. Unfortunately, the lockdown occurred on the same date as the Beaumont’s soiree across the street; everyone at the Institute had been eagerly anticipating its arrival and now, they were stuck in their dorms.

 

While the doctors and staff were whining and complaining, Marie suited herself up in a sterile quarantine suit. The large suit fit perfectly over her dress but the mask messed up her immaculate bun. She would have to talk to monsieur Pasteur about the design when she saw him next.

 

Marie tutted to herself; the West Wing was the most sterile area in the Institute and also the most heavily protected. According to the bills, it was also the most costly section.

 

She lifted the veil on most of the items in the kitchenette in one of the conference rooms in the wing. The glasses were in need of a wash and the brandy needed refilling. There was no more tea and coffee in the room so she would have to go and retrieve some from the kitchens. The large wooden room had been cleaned yesterday as part of the daily cleaning so Marie didn’t have to worry about that; lunch on the other hand would be a bit of a problem as they would be quarantined in the West Wing. Marie made a note to ask the kitchens for a warming plate or something of the sort to bring up to the kitchenette.

 

The walk to the kitchens was far and Doctor Koch and the others would be arriving soon; truly, these doctors had such horrid timing.

 

Alex looked out the window as the train approached its stop in France. Normally, he would be ecstatic to travel, even for business but the gloom of Doctor Koch was ruining his disposition. The great doctor seemed fidgety and nervous, never a good sign but Alex reasoned it was because he was not allowed to pace in the train. He had heard a lot about this Institute and how it had many new (experimental) treatments on various afflictions and how it was mostly powered by steam engine. To imagine, a whole block of buildings powered by steam! There would be others his age in the Institute, all training to become doctors but according to Doctors Koch and Davaine, they would mostly be in their rooms following the quarantine lockdown. No one back where they lived in Germany was his age, and those who were are training to be lawyers. Alex nearly started when Koch slammed the train carriage’s door open, eager to get to the Institute.

 

Robert Koch could spare no expense in tracking down Pasteur, who had been in the middle of a breakthrough in his research according to the last correspondence they had exchanged. It was revolutionary, according to Pasteur, and perhaps someone had intercepted the letter before Koch received it. That could be a reason why someone had designs on Pasteur; Pettenkofer did have an unusual interest in Pasteur lately. Yes, Pettenkofer and his Chaos group; they had to discuss this threat as well. The group may be composed of madmen, but if they included Pettenkofer in their ranks, they must at least be powerful.

 

Casimir Davaine and John Hopkins were already in the West Wing sipping coffee and brandy when Koch and Alex arrived. Koch motioned for the boy to sit down next to Marie and take note of the proceedings.

 

Koch cleared his throat and began,

 

“We are here today because I have received a missive from the slave country: the slaves are being used as fodder for the culture and development of strains. There has recently been an outbreak of cholera in Alexandria,” he sighed before continuing, “and the French Doctor-General has turned his back on us.”

 

Hopkins’ face coloured with an intense red; he turned on Davaine and let loose.

 

“You frog, how could you condone such actions? I believed you were a man of honour, Davaine! Yet, here you are lying to us; you knew all along that the office of the Doctor-General was to release an attack but still you remain silent?”

 

“Please, Hopkins, I had no idea the Doctor-General was planning anything of that sort. My officers have told me nothing of his plans although last week, he had begun to act strangely, always muttering about a Chaos that was about to happen.”

 

Koch rubbed the bridge of his nose,

 

“Gentlemen, please, we have another concern before we end this session; Louis Pasteur, the founder of this Institute has gone missing and may have been abducted by the same group the French Doctor-General is in.”  


“That is impossible!” Davaine cried, “Pasteur has the best protection the medics have to offer! He is the next in line for the position of Doctor-General.”

 

“He was also in the middle of a breakthrough in his research before he was abducted, Doctor Davaine. We must find him immediately and Marie must secure his research from prying eyes before the others in the Hospital Union hear about it. With the betrayal of the French Doctor-General, who knows who else is involved in this Chaos group,” Koch added.

 

  _ **ii.**_

Lucian Allens knows when to admit a mistake, he was a humble man. The worst mistake he has ever made was joining the ranks of the medic soldiers. Sure, he was grateful for the Doctors’ Association for saving his family and village, but being sent out to other cities and villages was torture. Even if the medics are equipped with quarantine suits and masks, there are horrors that cannot be cured with medicines. There was no tonic, no pill that could erase the memory of a small child dying in your arms while calling for its mother.

 

Luc’s squad had been sent down to Hamburg last week and already the horrors were consuming the men’s minds. The disease had been depriving the victims of water in their bodies, an extreme form of dehydration. Their squad leader had been given orders to survey, quarantine and report back to the Association as soon as possible.

 

Luc and the men were able to assess that the sickness had come from a small village near the edge of the border and had spread to Hamburg. The disease was fast acting and highly contagious. The squad was running out of provisions and mask filters, they would have to remove their masks soon and risk infection or suffocation.

 

Yesterday, Luc made a terrible discovery; the infection was spreading closer to their camp. When he went back to the quarantine tent, the other men were already suiting up for an observation trip into a nearby village to collect samples and hopefully find a way of at least containing the disease.

 

It was a two mile walk to the village and there were some corpses along the road, all bloated and rotting. The village was small and only had a few visitors all year-round; the post came in only every two weeks so the disease could have come from the exposure from an infected letter.

 

The squad headed to the village’s clinic where they were greeted with projectile vomit to their faces. The doctors of the clinic were vomiting into buckets at the back; people were crying for help.

 

The scene tore at Luc’s heart and the standard procedures for a situation such as this was to torch the village; there was nothing he could do. According to the other scouting squads, these were the only remaining people in the village. There would be nothing more he could do for these people. As his squad members were leaving, he noticed something painted on the opposite wall: CHAOS. Luc made a note to include it in his reports, but all he wanted to do was to get back to the camp and wash the sick off his suit; luckily, the only dirty part was his stomach.

 

**_Three hours_ **

 

It only took three hours until the virus spread to men whose masks had vomit on them.

 

**_Four hours_ **

 

The men were losing their battle against dehydration quickly. There were only a few supplies left before they were infected, now, there were next to none.

 

**_Five hours_ **

 

Five hours later, Lucian Allens is the only remaining member of squad Alpha Bravo Omega 12.42. He receives intel from his squad leader to proceed to the city and report his findings.

 

**_Six hours_ **

 

The city of Hamburg is now infected, the message of Chaos delivered.

 

Pasteur’s body is found among the dead in the streets.

 

The Doctor’s Association was on its knees before Max von Pettenkofer.

 

Robert Koch, Casimir Davaine, and John Hopkins rallied the remaining doctors in the Institute to find a vaccine for the cholera.

 

_Seven hours_

 

Alexander Whittaker started going through Louis Pasteur’s research notes on bacteria he found on one culture sample and something about penicillin.

 

All the members of squad Alpha Bravo Omega 12.42 are dead.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! I may also edit this from time to time or make it longer. Comments/criticism are much appreciated!


End file.
